


the butcher dreams of his dead sheep

by coyotesuspect



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Disturbing Themes, Gen, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-31
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-04-27 21:59:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5065963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coyotesuspect/pseuds/coyotesuspect
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It takes Ronan a few tries to get Matthew right. </p><p>Or: Declan Lynch may be a liar, but that's exactly who his father raised him to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the butcher dreams of his dead sheep

**Author's Note:**

  * For [linndechir](https://archiveofourown.org/users/linndechir/gifts).



> Dear linndechir - I had a great time writing this and thinking about Declan and what makes him tick. This got a lot darker than I expected, but I really hope you enjoy. Happy Trick'or'Treat!

“If I were the big brother, I’d share!” said Ronan. He leapt forward, snatching for the airplane in Declan’s hand. 

“You would not!” said Declan. He pulled the airplane out of Ronan’s reach, and danced away before Ronan could grab for it again. 

“I would!” shouted Ronan. He lunged for Declan. “I would! I’d be really nice!” 

Declan scrambled away, onto the kitchen counter and then onto the fridge, still holding onto the plane. Niall had given it to him a week ago, right before he’d gone away. It was silver, with a roaring tiger painted on the side, and it flew forever when Declan threw it, until Declan whistled for it to come back. And, most importantly, it was his. Ronan had his own toys to play with. 

Ronan stared up at him balefully. Declan only had a few inches on him, but they were enough to make a difference when it came to climbing up things. He examined the plane happily. It shone brightly even in the dim kitchen. It was raining outside, and Niall was gone, and Declan and Ronan had been trapped inside all day. Aurora was home, but she always seemed faded when Niall wasn’t around, like she was only ever half-there. She had retired to her room for a nap around noon, leaving Declan and Ronan full run of the house. 

“You’re the worst brother ever,” said Ronan. Declan stuck out his tongue in response. 

Ronan scowled harder, then pulled open the lowest drawer in the kitchen cupboards. Declan narrowed his eyes at him. 

“You’re going to hurt yourself.”

“Am not,” said Ronan. He stepped onto the edge of the drawer carefully, balancing on the balls of his feet. It held his weight. 

“You still won’t be able to reach _me_ ,” said Declan. Anger was starting to claw at his chest. Ronan was always like this. He was never willing to leave Declan _alone_. 

Ronan ignored his taunt. He put his small hands on the counter and attempted to lift himself. But he shifted his weight wrong and lost balance on the drawer. He slipped back with a cry – and Declan cried out, too, reaching for his brother instinctively – and Ronan fell hard onto his butt, a resounding thunk echoing through the kitchen. 

He burst into tears. 

“Don’t!” said Declan. He jumped off the fridge and onto the counter, focused on Ronan. He didn’t look hurt. But it was hard to tell. “Don’t cry! I was just joking – you can play with the plane if you want.”

“Hey, now,” said a pleasant, familiar voice. “What’s all this?” 

Declan and Ronan both looked up. Niall Lynch stood framed in the doorway. There were raindrops sparkling on the cloud-gray sweater he was wearing, and his black hair was wet and clung closely to his skull. Declan looked at his knuckles. The sleeves of his sweater didn’t cover them, and they were bloody-looking and bruised. 

“Declan won’t share and he made me fall!” wailed Ronan, all in one breath. 

“He’s lying!” yelled Declan, trying to shout louder than Ronan. “It’s _mine_! He kept trying to steal it! It’s his own fault he fell!” 

Niall looked between the two of them and laughed. 

“All this over a toy?” he said. He picked Ronan up and looked him over. “Nothing’s wrong with you, little man. You just hit your tailbone.” 

He set Ronan down on his feet and patted his head. Ronan sniffed and scowled, but didn’t argue. Neither of them ever argued with Niall. 

“Now, Ace,” said Niall, turning to face Declan. Declan was still on the counter, his legs hanging loosely over the edge. He perked up at ‘Ace.’ That was Niall’s special nickname for him. Ronan never got to be Ace. “You should share with your brother. He’s the only one you’ve got.” 

Declan deflated. 

“But – ” he started to protest, and then he noticed the stern look on Niall’s face. 

“Fine,” he muttered. He slid off the counter and walked to Ronan, then stiffly handed the plane over.

Ronan yelped with delight and raced from the room, making zooming noises as he did. Declan remained behind in the kitchen with his father, resenting his family with all the persecution a five-year-old could muster. 

Niall mussed his hair. “Don’t sulk, Declan. Do you want to come outside and look at the garden with me?” 

Mucking around in the garden with Niall was one of Declan’s favorite things. You never knew what you would find, and all of Declan’s most treasured possessions were from there – the fist-sized globe where the continents shifted and collided and burst apart, the set of fossils that formed most of a small dinosaur's skeleton, the toy soldiers that screamed and fought like real men. But…

“It’s raining,” said Declan, squinting up at his father. 

“No, it’s not,” said Niall, and sure enough, the light from the windows shifted, brightened. The day outside was born anew, in gold and blue, as if because Niall had willed it, the weather had no choice but to obey. A part of Declan thought maybe the weather didn’t. 

“Come on then,” said Niall cheerfully. He took Declan by the hand and led him out. 

The sky outside was perfectly clear, scraped of all clouds. There weren’t even any on the horizon. And if someone were to only see the sky, and not notice how clean the air felt, or notice the slickness of the grass, or spot the spider webs glimmering with opalescent drops, they wouldn't have known there had been a storm at all. 

It was a crisp day, cool finally after the long, languorous summer they had had. Dimly, Declan was aware that children his age were now in school, and this was different somehow from the lessons they learned in church. The other kids in Sunday school all talked about it. A real school, with teachers and a whiteboard and homework, which was work you had to do at home and take in to your teacher, and a big room that everyone had lunch in. 

But Declan didn’t go, because, as Niall had told him, “This was Virginia, and in Virginia, parents had the right to educate their children as they like.” Instead, Declan and Ronan both learned about numbers and words and nature from Aurora. Niall, when he was around, taught them music and boxing and tales from his homeland about cattle thieves and fish that gave wisdom and boys who turned into swans. Whenever Niall got particularly cross with Declan or Ronan, he threatened to turn them into swans, which always made him laugh, and then he would stop being cross. 

Niall was not from Virginia. He was from far away, and his accent was the only accent of its kind Declan had heard. He knew Niall came from across the ocean, and had a vague idea what an ocean was. He had been able to read for over a year now, and he had read about oceans. But the one time he’d asked Niall why he’d come to Virginia – because being from across the ocean seemed very impressive, and being from Virginia, even someplace as nice as the Barns, didn't seem all that impressive at all – Niall had merely smiled at him and said he’d come because a dream had told him to.

Niall talked about his dreams a lot, which made Declan nervous. Declan rarely remembered his dreams at all. What if a dream told him he had to be somewhere but Declan forgot it before he even woke up? 

“Do you know why I wanted you to share with Ronan?” said Niall, once they were at the garden.

“Because he’s my brother,” said Declan dutifully. 

Niall nodded and knelt in the dirt. Declan knelt alongside him. The dirt was black from the water, and the water immediately soaked into the knees of Declan’s pants. The garden was not really a garden, nothing grew there. It was instead a large plot of dark earth, set some yards back from the house, and about forty-feet square. Ronan and Declan dug in it when they were bored, searching for buried treasure, while Aurora worked in the real garden next to them, which was overgrown with sunflowers and tomatoes and runner beans. Usually Declan and Ronan ended up fighting in the mud.

“Exactly. Because he’s family, and you always have to share with family and make sacrifices for them. Did you look after your mum and Ronan while I was gone?” 

Declan puffed his chest up. “Yes, Dad!” he said. He always looked after them when Niall was gone. It was his job. 

“Good lad. There’s my Ace,” said Niall. He reached into the rich dirt of the garden with his bruised and bloody hands and pulled something out. 

It was another model airplane, but this one looked exactly like a World War 2 bomber. It was less sleek than the model Ronan had taken from Declan, but Declan had been reading about World War 2 all week. Niall could not have known, but here was a P51 Mustang, its nose red and yellow and stars emblazoned on its side. It looked ready for any dogfight. He could bomb his soldiers with it. Declan gasped with delight. 

“There you go,” said Niall, pleased at Declan’s pleasure. “Now I’m going to go say hello to your mother. Don’t lord this over poor Ronan like you did the last one.”

Declan nodded and hugged Niall, then leapt away with his new plane. He rocketed off into the wilds of the Barns, far from the prying hands and eyes of little brothers, at least for a little while. 

***

Ronan woke him up that night. 

“Declan,” he said, shaking him. His voice was frantic and high. “Declan, wake up. Wake up! I’m sorry I took your plane!”

“Go away,” whined Declan. “What do you want?” 

“There’s something in my room,” said Ronan. 

Declan opened his eyes.

“Something in your room?” he asked groggily. He sat up slowly. Ronan was white-faced, thin-lipped. He nodded frantically. 

“Yes! Something – I didn’t mean to do it! It just happened! I don’t think it’s supposed to be here!” 

Sleep did not want to let go of Declan. He felt thick and nauseous with it. But Ronan looked scared, and he was supposed to help Ronan. 

A distant memory swam up to him. One of his earliest memories, something so flimsy and placeless it could have been a memory of a dream instead. But Declan did not remember his dreams. The memory was of him, Ronan, and Aurora locked in Aurora and Niall’s room. Ronan was crying a lot, his face hidden in Aurora’s stomach. He had done something, or made something, or discovered something, and it was stalking them through the house. Declan remembered the flash of a pale face and sharp teeth before Niall had slammed the door and ordered them to barricade it. 

Niall was on the other side of the door, hunting the thing that hunted them. Declan didn’t remember how long the three of them had waited in that room, Aurora’s voice rising and falling tremulously as she sang to soothe them. At some point, later, Niall had knocked and said it was all okay. Declan had opened the door to let him in and Declan had seen him first, how his face had been shredded from below his left eye to past his mouth. The skin hung in ribbons and blood poured out. 

Aurora had squealed with horror and flown to him immediately. She treated him while he yelled at her, demanded to know what she was letting Ronan and Declan watch while he was away. She cried and Ronan continued to cry and it had been Declan’s job then to comfort him. 

The next day, Niall had taken Declan and Ronan aside and told them it was time they learned how to fight. His face was healed, scarless, perfect. 

“What kind of thing?” said Declan warily. The memory and the darkness made him scared. He did not want to go to Ronan’s room. 

Ronan shook his head and tugged at Declan’s shirt. 

“Wake up Mom and Dad!” said Declan, swatting at Ronan’s hands. 

“No!” moaned Ronan. “Dad’ll be mad at me! He says I’m not supposed to do it till I’m older!” 

“Do what?” said Declan, baffled. 

“Play the dream game,” said Ronan, as if that made sense. He tugged harder at Declan’s shirt. “Please, Declan, please. I said I was sorry!” 

Declan sighed. “Fine!” he said. He nearly shouted it, and he and Ronan both winced at the loudness. It was a big house, but they were not all that far from their parents’ room. 

As if it might make up for it, he got out of bed as silently as he could. He and Ronan tiptoed down the hall to Ronan’s room. When Ronan switched on the light, Declan felt like he was going to be sick. 

There was a giant maggot on Ronan’s bed. At least, that was what it looked like to Declan. It was white and smooth and glistening, about the size of a football and similar in shape. It wriggled on the bed, and from the doorway, Declan could make out a faint, high-pitched noise coming from it, like a dog whining. 

“What is it?” he asked. He did not move any closer. 

“I was dreaming about having a little brother,” whispered Ronan. “And I wanted one and I thought it would be okay and then I woke up and _that_ was here.” 

Declan stared at the grub-thing. He didn’t really understand what Ronan meant. But he knew one thing. 

“That’s not what a baby looks like.”

Ronan hit him between the shoulder blades. “I know that!” he said. “But what do we do with it?” 

Declan didn’t know. He didn’t want to get closer to it. But he did. He took a step, and behind him, Ronan took a step as well. They approached slowly. Declan felt like his stomach was trying to stay behind. 

“It can’t hurt us,” he reasoned out loud, to make himself feel better as much as Ronan. “It’s just a, a giant bug.” 

When they got to the bed, he saw that the thing had eyes. Human-looking eyes, blue and wide, like Aurora’s. It was looking at him. He froze. 

The light in the hallway turned on. Both Declan and Ronan jumped. 

Niall stood dark in the doorway, the light from the hallway picking him out in silhouette. Declan could make out Aurora behind him, standing on tiptoe to look over his shoulder. 

“Little men,” said Niall. “What’s going on?” 

Silently, Declan pointed at the thing on Ronan’s bed. 

Niall looked at it and frowned. 

“Ah,” he said. He rubbed his beard. “Ah.” 

He strode past Declan and Ronan and lifted up the four corners of Ronan’s bedsheet and tied them together, turning it into a sack. The high pitched hum got louder. 

“I’m sorry!” shouted Ronan. He jumped up and down, which he did when he was really upset.

He started to cry and Declan looked away. Ronan was younger, so it was still okay for him to cry. But Declan thought he should have tried not to anyway, not in front of Mom and Dad at least. Ronan was too emotional. He could never hide when he was sad or angry or tired or bored. 

“Oh, baby,” cooed Aurora, getting on her knees. She tugged Ronan to her, pressing his face into her chest, and kissed his temple. He stilled. “It’s all right, baby.” 

Niall watched the two of them, his expression unreadable. He held the makeshift sack in one hand. It was starting to leak a viscous, pale liquid. Finally, he took a step forward, carefully holding the sack away from his son and wife, and clasped Ronan on the shoulder. 

“We all make mistakes, Ronan.” Then, he turned to Declan. “Now, come on, Ace. Help me dispose of this.”

“What?” cried Declan. He wanted Aurora to hug him too. He did not want to go get rid of that thing or be near it. 

“You’re the older brother,” said Niall. 

Declan gulped and nodded. A small part of him felt proud his father had picked him to help. He would show his bravery and earn Niall’s approval. But that small part was not greater than his fear. 

Still, he followed Niall outside. Niall produced two shovels from the shed and then led Declan towards the garden. The Barns at night was eerie and alive. Declan knew owls lived on the property. He had seen one once when locking the cows up for the night. It was roosted high in the barn, pale and watchful, with a face like a ghost. He thought it must be out there now, stalking silently through the air for defenseless mice. The thought made him shiver uncontrollably, his teeth chattering like he'd taken a sudden chill. He didn't know what else wandered the grounds.

Niall took no notice of Declan’s fear, however. He whistled as he walked, something jaunty and bright. It was the kind of melody Niall liked to play from their radio when Aurora was cooking. He would grab her as soon as she’d set something on the stove or put something in the oven and dance with her throughout the kitchen, a reeling, twirling dance. But the music now, in the dark, did not make Declan feel any braver. `

They came to the garden. Niall set the sack down. The humming was even louder now, a droning, boring, terrible animal noise. Declan clamped his hands over his ears, but Niall frowned at him and handed him one of the shovels. 

"It won't take long," said Niall loudly. 

Declan said nothing, but he lowered his hands and took the shovel. He wanted to run back inside as fast as he could. Aurora had turned the lights on in several of the rooms, and he could see her blackly through a glowing window, Ronan held on her hip.

They began to dig and Niall's whistling turned to singing. Declan tried to sing with him; he knew the song, but his voice was shaky. He kept wanting to cry. And the singing was not loud enough to drown out the high, shrieking whine of what they were burying. Declan was not as strong or as fast as Niall, but the ground was soft and they made quick work. Finally, Niall nodded, satisfied and stepped away. "Are you just going to drop it in?" asked Declan, finding his voice at last. It didn't seem like a kind thing to do. "Ah, no," said Niall, and he untied the sheets. The grub lay there, glistening, pale and wet. The light of the half moon reflected off its wide, unblinking eyes. The humming became even louder, more frantic, a tuneless, buzzing wail. Niall set his shovel at the midway point of the grub, below its eyes. Then, he set his foot on the shovel. He leaned forward. There was a wet, crunching sound, like stepping on a roach. 

The humming stopped. 

Niall scooped up both halves of the creature and dumped them into the hole they had dug. Then, he pushed the dirt over it and tamped the dirt down. When he was finished, the earth was flat. 

“Simple,” he said. He tousled Declan’s hair. “Thanks for the help.” 

Ronan slept with Aurora and Niall that night, but Declan went back to his own room. He turned on the light and took a book from his shelf, one of his favorites, an illustrated history of the Trojan War. Towards the end, the victorious soldiers took Hector’s son, still a baby, and smashed him on the walls of the broken city. 

Declan paused. He had always moved quickly past that point. Killing babies was not very interesting. But, suddenly, it struck a discordant, terrible note with him. The thing he and Niall had buried (that Niall had killed, his mind whispered) had not been a baby. It had not looked like a baby. But Ronan had said he’d been dreaming about a younger brother. 

Had Declan helped kill his brother?

He closed the book and started to cry, a hard, shaking cry. His tears were hot and he gulped for air. He flung himself down onto his bed, facedown onto his pillow so he would he be muffled and no one would hear. Part of him hoped, however, that Niall or Aurora would hear him. That they would come and see how hurt he was, how brave he had been. 

But neither came, and, eventually, Declan fell asleep. 

***

He snuck out soon after breakfast that day. Niall and Aurora were busy with each other, but Ronan caught him leaving. 

“I want to come!” said Ronan, his eyes fierce and hard. “Where are you going?” 

“None of your business!” said Declan, toeing into his shoes. He’d grabbed an apple and jerky and a juicebox from the kitchen and did not anticipate being back before dinner. 

“I want to come,” repeated Ronan. He scrambled into his shoes and stumbled after Declan. He was stubborn, and Declan sometimes hated him for it.

“You can’t,” said Declan. He was mad at Ronan. It was Ronan’s fault last night had happened. 

"Can too!" cried Ronan, and he carried on towards Declan.

Declan was bigger though, and faster, and he broke into a run. Ronan ran after him, but he could not keep up. He fell back after a moment's hard sprint, gasping for breath and crying with rage. 

“You’re mean and I hate you!” Ronan yelled, sucking in air around the words. 

Declan didn’t listen. He kept running. He ran all the way to the edge of the Barns and fell down, panting for breath, at the stream that marked the end of the property. Beyond the stream was a small woods. Several of the trees at the edge of the woods were dead. They were leafless and dry, almost rotted looking. But ivy had claimed them, and covered the dead trunks with green vines and hand-shaped leaves. The ivy hung in thick loops off the branches, but the smallest parts of the branches, the very ends, were bare and stuck out like skeletal fingers. The trees looked shaggy and half-alive, like zombie trees, like any moment they might start shambling forward. 

Declan plopped down onto his belly beside the stream and scowled up at the trees. He felt a little bad about leaving Ronan behind, but not bad enough to go and find him and apologize. Declan did not like to apologize and only did it under pain of Niall’s disapproval. Thankfully, Niall did not much approve of apologizing either, not between brothers, when things could be fought out instead. 

He spent the whole day there, playing with the plane Niall had given him, which had come from the dirt they had buried his maybe-brother in, and Declan did not go home until supper. 

***

That night, it looked more like a baby, if a baby had no eyes and too many limbs and teeth that cut like dinner knives. This was not anything that could be a brother.

“I’m going to get Mom and Dad,” said Declan, standing far away from it. He didn’t understand why Ronan had come to him again. Declan could not do anything about this. 

Ronan whimpered but didn’t argue. His arm was bleeding. Declan had put some Neosporin on Ronan and given him a towel to hold to the bite. But he still bled freely, and Declan did not know what else to do. 

Aurora cried when she saw Ronan's wound, and Niall shook his head. 

"You have to be more careful," he told Ronan disapprovingly, then he scooped up the new creature in the sheets like he had the last. 

"There's a cream in my bathroom he should put on that," Niall told Aurora, and then he nodded at Declan. "Now you come with me." 

Declan blanched. There wasn't any need for him to help he thought. There had been no need for Ronan to wake him up to begin with. Aurora was the one who made Ronan feel better, and Niall was the one who made things better. 

"Declan," said Niall, his voice a warning. 

Declan bowed his head and followed his father out. 

They got halfway to the garden before the thing managed to chew its way out of the sheets. It plopped to the ground and howled, then began shuffling away on its too many arms and too many legs. It moved quicker than Declan would have thought possible. He jumped away from it, yelling. But Niall moved forward, and raised the shovel to shoulder height then brought it down on the thing, again, and again, and again as it shrieked, until it lay broken and silent and twitching on the ground, like a bug that had been mostly smashed but still waved one tiny leg. 

Declan could not look at it. He could not look at Niall. 

They dug and buried it in silence. Declan cried throughout and his nose ran, but he made no noise and only wiped at his eyes occasionally.

“Can you make him stop?” he demanded, when they were mostly done. “He doesn’t want to do it! It's scaring him!” 

“He wants to do it, or he wouldn’t be doing it,” said Niall, maddeningly. He tossed another shovelful dirt onto the dead thing. 

At Declan’s furious expression, he laughed and patted Declan's head. 

“You’re a stubborn mite, Declan. And it’s good of you to be protective. But he’ll figure it out in his own time. The forest will help.” 

***

Declan did not speak with Ronan at all the next day. Niall took Ronan for a walk with him around the Barns and Declan was not allowed to come. It made Declan so angry, he threw all the art supplies in the den onto the floor and refused to help Aurora clean them up. 

When Niall found out after coming back from his day with Ronan, he sent Declan to bed without supper. That was fine with Declan. He knew he had been wronged, and this was only further proof. 

Aurora, however, brought him a bowl of stew and a slice of fresh bread and sat on the bed and played with his hair while he ate. It ruined his sense of martyrdom. But he at least felt a little better. And maybe Niall had taught Ronan how to stop whatever he was doing. Niall knew everything. Surely he could teach Ronan that. 

But that night, Ronan woke Declan for the third time. 

"No," groaned Declan, burying his face in his pillow. "I'm just going to wake up Mom and Dad! Go tell them yourself, Ronan!"

"I don't want to wake them up alone," said Ronan quietly.

Declan rolled onto his side and stared at Ronan. Ronan stared back. He was wearing his superman pajama bottoms and one of Declan's old shirts. His arm was still bandaged up. The dark and the purple half-circles beneath his eyes made him look bruised. Declan felt a surge of protectiveness swell in his chest. Niall was wrong, he thought. Ronan didn't want to be doing this any more than Declan wanted to be a part of it. He got out of bed and took Ronan's hand. 

"All right," he said. "We can go together. It'll be okay."

Niall and Aurora seemed to be waiting for them. They were both awake, sitting at their bed in their tall white room. Ronan let go of Declan's hand and ran immediately to Aurora's arms, and Niall stood. He looked at Declan. 

"You ready?"

Declan nodded, though his mouth was dry with fear.

*

"I don't like this," said Declan as they walked to the garden. The sack in Niall's hand twitched violently. "I don't like killing them. I don't think God would want us to do this." 

"Declan, they're not people. They're dreams. That's why we're burying them in the garden. None of them would be able to survive more than a couple days anyway, and if they did, they'd just want to hurt us."

Declan took that in. He hesitated for a moment and then he asked the question that had been gnawing at him. 

“Can you and Ronan can take stuff from your dreams?” 

Niall smiled down at him and sat down the bag, then raised his shovel. They'd learned their lesson from the night before. “Well done,” he said, like it was the answer to a tricky question he had asked Declan, rather than something Declan had figured out for himself. 

“Is that a yes?” demanded Declan. 

Niall nodded and brought the shovel down. Declan winced and ignored the high-pitched, jarring shriek that came from the bag. “It is. Ronan and I have a very special gift.” 

“How come I can’t?” he demanded. It didn’t seem fair. He was older, after all. 

Niall shrugged, and then brought the shovel down again. “I can’t say I know. It’s not logical. It’s dreamsense.” 

Declan frowned. That wasn’t a good explanation. His father brought the shovel down once more, and there was a wet, crunching noise, followed by a sound like gas being released. The twitching was much feebler, and the bag was stained with blood. Declan focused on digging the grave.

"Can Ronan control it?" 

"He'll be able to someday," said Niall, and this time when he brought the shovel down, there was no movement afterwards. 

"Is that where..." Declan looked around, at the inky, organic lines of Aurora's garden, at the hulking shape of their grand, shambling house. He thought about his books and toys, which the other kids at Sunday School never believed him about, and about the richness and the lushness of their grounds.

"Is that where all of this is from?" finished Declan. 

Niall nodded again, and began to help Declan with the grave and the burial. 

"Most of it. Not all of it." He grinned. "Some of it I paid for."

"Are Ronan and I from your dreams?" Declan asked uncertainly. Niall always talked about the day Ronan was born, but he'd never mentioned Declan's. 

Niall smiled at him. He lifted the thing's body with the shovel and then dumped it into the hole, then began to cover it. Declan looked at it, repulsed. Had there been failed attempts at either of them? "No, not you two."

For the third time, Niall patted down the dirt above the buried monster. And for the third time, it was as if nothing had ever been there. 

Before they went back into the house, Niall paused. He squatted down so he was on level with Declan and placed his hands on Declan’s shoulders. 

“Ronan’s only three. He’s probably not going to remember this. But you probably will.” 

Declan nodded somberly. He didn’t think he could ever forget this week. Niall squeezed his shoulders. 

“So I want you to understand, you can’t tell Ronan what happened. This has to be secret."

“Why?”

“Because he’s too young to control what he can do, so we have to hide it from him. And because there are some things he’ll have to figure out on his own.” 

Declan thought about this. It didn’t seem like a complete answer, but it was an answer. Most adults Declan knew, like his Sunday school teacher, did not like all his _whys_. But Niall always at least tried to answer. 

"And Declan?" added Niall, his face somber and severe, not the normal, laughing Niall whom Declan was used to. 

"Yes?"

"You can't tell anyone about what Ronan and I can do. Do you understand? There are some very dangerous people out there who would like to know about us. So you can't let them know. You have to protect your brother." 

Declan felt a chill that had nothing to do with the nip of the night. He remembered the bruises on Niall's hands, how he often came home or woke up with strange injuries. Would that be Ronan someday? Declan might be able to protect him in the real world, but how could he protect Ronan in Ronan's dreams, when Declan could never even remember his own? 

But he merely bowed his head.

"I understand," he said.

***

The next night, Declan remembered his dreams and woke up sobbing. He pressed his face into his pillow, feeling his own hot tears on his face. He tried to calm down but fear had buckled him, and he sobbed, loud and ragged. His head ached and his throat was sore. He had dreamed about God and his brothers, whose faces were white like owls, who dripped blood all down their limbs and scales, their organs pulled from their stomachs. It was his fault, they told him, and they would be taking him soon. He could feel them still in the room with him. He didn't want to lift his head, sure he would see them hovering above him, reproachful, vengeful. He cowered into his sheets, shaking, as the night pressed down its hand. 

Was this what it was like to remember your dreams? If so, he did not want it.

"Declan," and someone reached out and touched Declan's shoulder. Declan jerked. 

"Declan, move over." Ronan shoved at him and Declan took a deep, steadying breath.

“No,” he said. His voice cracked. “Not again.” 

“I didn’t," whimpered Ronan. His voice sounded raw. Declan felt the bed shift as Ronan climbed on. He lifted the sheets and climbed under them with Declan, then pulled them over both of their heads, creating a dark, humid bubble. "But I can’t stop. They won’t let me. I gotta get it right. They won’t leave me alone.”

Declan turned his head and looked at Ronan. It was hard to tell with the covers over them, but Ronan's face was streaked and slimy, like he had been crying, too. Their knees knocked together. Declan had a grown up bed, had moved into it last year, but with Ronan so close to him, in the thick heat beneath the covers, he felt like he had no space at all.

“Them?” he asked weakly. “Who’s making you do it?” 

“The – what I dreamed before. There are more of them. Hundreds! Millions! They’re saying I messed up and I have to fix it.” 

Ronan made a desperate, aborted gesture, like half a swimming stroke. Declan imagined his brother in a sea of grubs from the first night, trying to escape, but being swallowed back down, disappearing beneath a white and writhing mass. Declan shook. 

He moved over on his bed, towards the wall, and patted the space he left behind. Ronan clambered on immediately, looking grateful. 

“Can you control it?” asked Declan. He wiped at his face. He didn't want Ronan to know he had been crying.

Ronan shrugged. “Kinda. It’s only happening cuz I want a little brother.” 

“So what do you want him to be like?” said Declan. He hazarded a guess and said with more confidence than he felt. “You really have to think what you want him to be like.” 

“Like Dad,” said Ronan loyally. 

“No,” said Declan quickly. “Like Mom. Don’t you think? Wouldn’t he better if he were like Mom?” 

“Like Mom?” 

Declan nodded, warming to the idea. “Yeah! Nice and sweet and helps people. Someone who’s always here.” 

Someone who would not know how to get rid of a monster that was supposed to be a baby, but someone who would also not need to know. Someone who did not have to hide all the bad parts, because they had no bad parts to hide. 

Ronan chewed on his nails. 

“What should he look like?” he asked. 

A thought occurred to Declan. He climbed out of bed. 

“I’ll show you, but stay here. I’ll be right back,” he said, and he walked silently to the den. There was a photo album on one of the book shelves there, full of photos of him and Ronan as babies. Aurora liked to sit and look at it sometimes, and tell Ronan and Declan what they were like then. Declan found it deathly boring, and he thought Ronan did, too. Babies were not very interesting, even the babies they had once been.

He found the album easily and went back to the room with it. Ronan was tense, eyes fixed on the door. But he relaxed when he saw Declan. 

“What did you get?” he asked. 

Declan climbed back onto the bed and showed him.

“He has to be a real baby,” said Declan. “He has to look like this.”

He skipped quickly past the first couple pictures. It was him as a newborn, he was pretty sure. He looked pale and featureless and wrinkly. Like a grub, he thought uneasily. 

He found a picture towards the middle that was better. He couldn’t tell if it was of him or of Ronan. They had both been dark-haired, dark-eyed babies. The baby, whichever of them it was, was sitting up and laughing. He had chubby cheeks and bright eyes and was wearing blue footsie pajamas. Declan did not have much experience with babies, but this looked like a proper one, not the strange alien kind of the newly born. 

Ronan looked at the picture quietly. 

“You could give him Mom’s hair,” said Declan. “And Mom’s eyes. She would like that. She’s always sad we both look so much like Dad.” 

Ronan nodded and worried at his thumbnail some more. He had a bad habit of biting his nails. Declan was trying to get him to stop, but he didn’t have the heart to do it now. And he could tell Ronan was thinking. 

“He has to age, too. He can’t be a baby forever. How are you going to play with someone who’s a baby forever?” 

Ronan nodded. It seemed like it was more to himself than to Declan. 

Declan couldn’t think of anything else to say. He didn’t know how to make a baby, though he knew enough to know this was not the usual way. He and Aurora had seen a deer with her fawn in the spring, and Aurora had explained to him the mother had kept the fawn in her stomach all through the winter before giving birth. Babies did not come out of the head of your little brother. 

“Can I stay here?” asked Ronan, looking up at Declan. 

“Yeah,” said Declan. “If you want.” 

They were both quiet, and then Declan asked, “How does it work?” 

He didn’t have to explain; Ronan seemed to understand. He thought about it. 

“I go into a forest, and they’re there. And I pick one up. And I wake up. And it’s with me.” 

Declan nodded. He wanted to go with Ronan. He wanted to see the forest. They could pick out their brother together. 

“Do you want to try now?” he asked. 

“Yeah,” said Ronan, nodding.

Ronan laid down, facing away from Declan, towards the wall. Declan laid on his back beside him. 

They were quiet. The night continued ponderously around them. Declan fell half-asleep himself, his mind filling with images of dead brothers who turned into ghostly owls, of dead trees that caught at the owls with rotting fingers. 

“I can’t sleep,” announced Ronan, squirming. 

Declan let out a frustrated noise and opened his eyes. 

“Why not?” 

“I’m not comfortable,” whined Ronan. He squirmed some more.

Declan sighed and shifted so he was on his side. He tucked one arm beneath his head and carefully placed the other around Ronan. He was much more physical than Declan was, always grabbing where Declan was always pushing away. It was not a very comfortable position for Declan to be in, but he could feel Ronan’s body relax. 

Declan sang softly. It was a lullaby Aurora had taught them, about the moon. She told them she learned it as a kid, and it had been the only time Declan could remember Aurora talking about her childhood. Niall talked about his all the time, about the giants he had fought and the witches he had tricked and his six older brother who he had had to beat at boxing in order to win his father’s inheritance. Declan thought maybe Niall was lying about some of these things, but they were good stories. 

“God bless the moon,” sang Declan, as quiet as the wind and the trees, “and God bless me, and God bless the one that I want to see.” 

Ronan exhaled. He was quiet. Soon, he fell asleep. 

Declan laid there in the dark, his brother’s body hot and silent beside him. He wondered if Ronan was going to remember this. He knew that, if Ronan didn’t, Declan would not be allowed to tell. It was a secret, one Ronan needed kept from himself. 

The next time he woke up, it was because a baby was crying.

End.


End file.
